No Mercy, No Mates

For two years somebody has been in my house. Nothing is ever taken. A chair moves an inch. A book is turned face down. A single grain of sand appears on my pillow, and only ever one — the way a wolf marks a place he will return to. I know it's a wolf. I can smell him. I've left him notes; he doesn't answer. Then he saves my life in the alley behind my shop, and I finally see his face. Tomas Vane. Harbormaster. Quiet. Kind, even. He has been waiting until I was strong enough to survive the bond — because the wolf in his blood will kill me if we ever go further than a kiss. I don't accept that. I take a month. I learn the blade, I learn my grandmother's spells, I learn his curse. On the solstice I sew a spell into the back of his coat. He won't be the only one doing the watching from now on.